When Therapy Fails
by AurelieCriss
Summary: After Harry's therapy sessions fail to help him overcome his severe case of PTSD following the Second Wizarding War, his therapist suggests he start group therapy. While there, Harry runs into an old enemy, who happens to be going through the exact same thing. Reluctant as Harry is, he quickly forms a bond with this person, who is the only person who seems to truly understand.
1. Tinley the Therapist

**Okay, so here goes my second Drarry fanfiction! I just love them so much...hopefully this one is completely different than my first, and I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except those of my own invention.**

Tinley The Therapist

"Tell me more about those feelings," the therapist said, giving Harry a pointed look. As if she knows better. As if she understands. As if she's been through worse. Yeah, right. Hell, I'm sure the worst thing she's ever been through is not being able to keep her fucking pin curls in the right place. God, I don't even know what I'm doing here. Harry sat up straighter, crossing his arms.

"Why don't you do some talking, huh? I feel like I'm just rambling on to a brick wall. You're a therapist, why not therapy me a little bit?" He said coldly. The therapist, a young witch by the name of Tinley Percival, adjusted her glittery spectacles and carefully placed a curl behind her ear. She leaned forward, clasping her hands together and looking down at Harry as if he was a child.

"Now Harry," she said softly, sweetly. "I can't tell you what you want to hear. That would be lying, and I can't lie to you, because that won't help you. If you want me to help you,"-but Harry had stopped listening. Because those words, those sickly sweet words had reminded him of somebody else. Somebody he did not want to think of. And then he felt it. The cold trickle of fear spreading down his back, and the tightening of his muscles. His jaw clenched together, and his palms began to sweat. The therapists words faded away, while Harry's eyes widened and he gasped.

He was sitting in Dolores Umbridge's horrible, pink office she occupied at Hogwarts, with the little china plates on the walls. Harry, feeling very cold yet warm at the same time, as if he were running a very high fever, turned around, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He could not see or hear Umbridge, but he could sense her nearby, ready to pounce. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he looked down at his hand, only to see himself clutching that godforsaken quill.

He tried to drop it, but he couldn't, and then he started to write. I must not tell lies. Over and over again, and the pain wouldn't stop and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't focus, and there was Umbridge screaming at him and performing the Cruciatus curse on him, and he was writhing in pain, so much pain, so much umbearable pain, and then it was gone.

Harry was back in his therapists' office, lying on the couch, his hair sticking to his forehead and his heart racing. Tinley was kneeling down next to him, clutching his hand, which was holding hers so tight his knuckles were white. Harry felt as if a dementor had just entered the room, if not worse. Tinley slowly helped Harry sit up, and Summoned a glass of water, which zoomed into Harry's hand. Harry, trying to return his breathing to normal, downed the water, which seemed to help clear his head. He checked and rechecked his hand, but the scars were faded, old.

"What was that one about? What triggered it?" Tinley asked, her voice grave and serious. It was the first time Harry had ever had an episode in front of his therapist. He swallowed, and kept looking around the room, not making eye contact with Tinley. "It, uh, it was about Umbridge, and the quill that scarred me, and when she almost tried torturing me, but she didn't, but she did, but not in real life," Harry stammered, losing his train of thought.

"Harry, look at me," Tinley said, catching his hand, which had been running over the fabric of the couch. Harry looked at Tinley, but didn't feel reassured. In fact, he felt slightly afraid. She, after all, had triggered the flashback. "You need to remind yourself, when you're having these episodes, that it's not real, and that you have control over what happens, what the outcome is," she instructed, but Harry wasn't really listening. He remembered how he had failed at Occlumency, and he didn't see how what Tinley was asking him to do was any different.

Tinley leaned back in her chair, and waved her wand. A piece of parchment with a date and address printed on it flew toward Harry, floating gently down onto his lap. He picked it up gingerly, peering at it. He looked up at Tinley. She gestured to the parchment. "I can tell that your sessions with me aren't helping, and so I think it'd be a good idea for you to start going to group therapy. There are people who have the same disease you do, and perhaps hearing from them will help you heal and help give you some understanding. You're not alone in this, Harry, not anymore,"

Tinley waved her wand again, and scribbled something down on another piece of parchment, and handed it to Harry, who looked at it hesitantly. "Meanwhile," Tinley continued. "I want to start you on medication, twice a day, ever day, until you feel you don't need it," Harry cut her off. "I don't need medication!" he exclaimed, feeling slightly offended. He had every right to be a little stressed. After all, it had only been mere weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts and the defeat of Voldemort. Tinley slammed her hand on the table between her and Harry, startling Harry in the process.

"You have PTSD, Harry, that's Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and your episodes have become frequent, and in some cases, violent. Now, I know that you want to get better, but having a little assistance does not mean that you are weak or less of a man, or whatever you think. I'm just trying to keep you safe, and the people around you safe. Now, you will attend group therapy once a week, you will take your medication as prescribed, and if you don't then I will continue scheduling these little one-on-one meetings until you can no longer say you suffer from PTSD-related flashbacks! Do you understand me?" she finished, a few of her curls becoming loose and entangled.

Harry, utterly taken aback, nodded quickly, his eyes wide. He never thought Tinley the therapist would lash out at him like that. Tinley waved her hand. "You can go. I'll be checking in with the director of group therapy, so don't think I won't know if you don't show up," she warned, as Harry hastily got up and headed toward the door. Just as he was twisting the doorknob, Tinley caught his attention again. Groaning, Harry turned around.

"If it makes you feel better, Harry," she said, not looking at him. "There's someone in group therapy that I'm sure you'll recognize," Harry waited for more, but Tinley was silent, having preoccupied herself with paperwork. Harry turned around, and opened the door, walking briskly outside, and then Disapparating, eager to get as far away from Tinley Percival as possible.


	2. Group Therapy and All Its Wonders

**Oooh, I am going to have so much fun writing this! It's so exciting. Anyways, you guys enjoy, and let me know how it is so far! :D**

Group Therapy And All Its Wonders

"I really think that it'll help you, Harry," Hermione said kindly, patting his hand awkwardly. Harry sighed, and looked to Ron for his opinion. He shrugged his shoulders, and scooted closer to Hermione. "I agree with 'Mione mate. I mean, you almost broke Ginny's jaw last week," he pointed out. That just made Harry angry. He immediately went on the defensive, but Ron stopped him, holding up a hand.

"Hey, I know you didn't mean to. Of course you didn't mean to. But that doesn't mean you're not a danger. I say go to group therapy at least once, and then if it's just awful, go back to Tinley the therapist," he saved. Harry, fuming, settled back into his chair. He looked at his two best friends in the entire world, and he didn't see that cloudy fear in their eyes. They seemed absolutely fine. Why was it always Harry? "Why don't you guys go to therapy?" he blurted out.  
Hermione started, but then looked over at Ron, and then back at Harry, with an almost guilty look on her face. "Erm," she said. "Well, I have Ron, you see, and he has me, and we just kind of cope, together," Her face flushed and she looked down. Ron nodded approvingly, and reached out and placed his hand on Harry's knee. He leaned in closer, checking his surroundings to make sure they were alone. The Burrow was silent.

"Why don't you just talk to Ginny?" he whispered. Harry groaned, and stood up, pacing. He ran a hand through his hair and clenched his eyes shut and then reopened them. He turned around to face Ron. "Because," he whispered, his jaw taut. "I _left_ her, Ron. It was just too painful to be around her, and I couldn't appreciate her the way she deserves to be appreciated, and, and, she just can't help me, okay? Don't ask me again," He finished, dismissively.

Ron stared at him a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders again, leaning back. Harry checked his watch. If he wanted to be only a little bit late he should leave now. He grabbed his cloak and his wand, waved goodbye to Hermione and Ron, and went out into the garden. He pulled out the piece of parchment with the address and clearly visualized the streets and building. Before he knew it, he was Apparating, being pulled through a tube that was squeezing the air out of him.

After the uncomfortable sensation of almost suffocating was over, Harry found himself standing outside of what seemed to be an old gym. He pulled his wand out carefully, and walked inside. " _Lumos_ ," Harry whispered, and the light flooded the dimly light hallways. He could hear voices towards the end of the hallway, to the left, and he walked toward it. As he approached the door the voices got louder, and he thought he recognized it, but he didn't pay it much attention.  
Harry stopped outside the door, which bore the sign _Clarity Group Therapy_. Harry thought vaguely that signs that rhyme don't sound too inviting, but opened the door anyway. There was a short little vestibule that opened up into what Harry assumed was the gymnasium, and he made to go inside, but a voice stopped him. A voice that was eerily familiar. And it was speaking his name. Harry, frozen to where he stood, listened, straining his ears to hear more clearly.

"Harry Potter saved my life. Merlin knows I didn't deserve it, not after all I had put him through. And yet, he did. He showed me kindness when I had only shown him hatred and disgust. You see, Harry and I were bitter enemies all throughout our tenure at Hogwarts, and I blame myself for that. He denied my hand in friendship, and I took it personally. Too personally. I bullied Harry Potter constantly, incessantly, without stop. And he never stooped to my level. He mostly ignored me, and when he didn't, he was sticking up for his friends. He was so loyal, unwavering, and it made me furious. I think perhaps that his loyalty and his honesty, and his morality are what made me want to hurt him. He was everything that I wanted to be but couldn't, because if I ever was, I knew I would be shunned by my friends and my family," Harry, heart racing, breathing ragged, listened harder, desperate to turn the corner and see the face of the person he knew was talking about him.

The voice continued. "If I could say anything to Harry Potter, it would be I'm sorry. I would just apologize for everything I ever did, all the horrible and awful things that I did, and I know that you guys will tell me that I was forced to do those things, forced to murder Dumbledore, but I could've done something more to stop him, to stop You-Know-Who, and I didn't. And for that I will be forever ashamed of. I would say all of that to Harry Potter, and I would hope that he would forgive me. And if he didn't, well, I can't say I blame him. Could you? Thank you," he stopped speaking, and the rest of the group, a small group of witches and wizards young and old spoke in unison, "We believe in you,"

Another person, the leader of the group, perhaps, took to what Harry assumed was a stage, and began speaking. Harry wanted to run away, to not go into that room and confront his worst enemy, his worst enemy who had just repented, asked for forgiveness. He did not want to face that, because he knew that the moment he laid eyes on Draco Malfoy, he would have an episode, a flashback. And he did not want to have a fit in front of everyone. Honestly, he didn't believe he had anymore room for more humiliation. But, as luck would have it, as soon as Harry turned around, the leader saw him.

"Oh, hello? Who's there?" he called. Harry froze, mentally cursing himself for not being stealthier, and slowly, stiffly turned back around. "Come on out and join us, we were just getting ready to go around the circle and introduce ourselves," the leader beckoned. Harry took a deep breath, vowed not to find Draco Malfoy in the group, and stepped out of the shadows. He heard a few gasps and whispers, but Harry kept his gaze firmly toward the leader, who was a young man with sandy blonde hair and green eyes. He smiled at him, and motioned for him to come closer.

"Ah, yes, Tinley told me you would be coming, Mr. Potter," the leader said, pulling Harry up to his level. He held out his hand, which Harry shook quickly, dropping his hand as soon as was appropriate. He didn't dare look out to the group, even though he could feel Draco Malfoy's eyes burning holes through his back. "My name is Kent, and I'm the lead therapist for this group. Now, if you'll just have a seat next to, oh, how about Mr. Malfoy?" Harry's heart plummeted and he could feel his face growing hot. Kent gave him a little shove, and Harry stumbled over and fell into the chair next to Malfoy, not looking at him, not even acknowledging him. Kent grinned.

"Tinley told you that you might recognize Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter. Is it true? Because Mr. Malfoy was just talking about you," Kent said. Harry heard Malfoy's fist clench around his chair, and he couldn't resist any longer. He sideways glanced at Malfoy, and saw that his face was crimson, and his knuckles were white. His hair was still the same white-blonde shade, carefully gelled the the side, and his eyes were still silver, but they were different. It didn't take Harry long to realize that they had the same cloudy film over them, a cloud of fear. Just like Harry's. Malfoy's eyes flickered over to Harry, and they met, but only for a brief moment, because Harry turned away just then and gave Kent a small nod.

"Yeah, I know who he is," he said bitterly.


	3. Debating Draco Malfoy

Debating Draco Malfoy

"So, how was it?" Ron asked excitedly as Harry entered the Burrow. Harry shrugged his shoulders, hanging up his cloak. "The therapy itself kind of dragged, but you'll never guess who else was there," he said, going into the kitchen and pouring himself a cup a tea. Hermione and Ron followed him, settling down at the kitchen table. The remnants of a lunchtime meal remained on the table, and Harry nibbled on a piece of spare bread while sitting down.

"Who was there?" Hermione pressed. Harry swallowed, and leaned forward. "Malfoy," he said quietly. Hermione and Ron gasped, and looked at each other, then back at Harry. "Was he, like, totally embarrassed when he saw you?" Ron asked. His face was bright, full of glee, probably imagining Malfoy's red face. Harry chuckled a bit and nodded. "Well, actually, I overheard his little speech to the group before I walked in, and it was about me," Harry said. Ron clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes widening.

"Merlin's beard! What was he saying?" Ron asked, not trying to keep the cheeriness out of his voice. Hermione slapped his shoulder. "Guys, stop it! Just because Malfoy is a foul, rotten little git doesn't mean we should gossip at his expense. Don't sink to his level, Ronald," she said, eying Harry suspiciously. He looked away, becoming suddenly interested in the roll he was nibbling at.

Ron rebuffed Hermione. "Oh, come off it, Hermione. After all the stuff he's done, a little gossip is nothing. And it's not like Harry's going to go and repeat everything to Malfoy. He hates him more than we do!" he said, turning back to Harry. "Go on, then, tell me everything," He waved his hands toward Harry, who, after ignoring Hermione's angry stare, relayed the whole entire speech to Ron.

After he was done, Ron was speechless. He just stared at Harry, shocked and in awe, his jaw hanging wide open. Even Hermione couldn't deny that what Malfoy said was very un-Malfoy of him. Harry sat back in his chair, waiting for a response. Ron was first, speaking slowly. "Bloody hell, Harry. I never in my life expected to hear Malfoy asking for forgiveness, or offering up an apology. Bloody _hell_ ," he repeated, his eyes wandering. Harry just nodded, silently agreeing.

Hermione offered, as usual, a more intellectual response. "Maybe something happened to him, to make him change his mind about you. You should talk to him, Harry, see if you can maybe try and understand where he's coming from. Everyone deserves a second chance," she said softly. Harry's eyes popped. He was not expecting Hermione to side with Malfoy. "Are you _kidding me_ , Hermione? You _just_ called him foul," Harry exclaimed, sitting up straighter.

Hermione held her own, crossing her arms and giving Harry a demeaning glare. "I know that, Harry, but people change and you heard what he said. He wants to apologize to you, and he can't do that if you just ignore him. It can't hurt to just clear the air. I never said you had to accept the apology. But maybe it'll make Malfoy feel better if he gets the chance to explain himself. You saw how he was, right before you defeated Voldemort. He only went to the other side because his parents forced him. Give him the benefit of the doubt," Hermione finished. Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Out of all people, Harry least suspected Hermione of supporting Malfoy, because after all, most of Malfoy's hatred was directed toward her and her heritage. Ron couldn't believe his ears either, because he was staring at Hermione as if he didn't know who she was.

"Hermione, he doesn't deserve second chance. He had every opportunity to right his wrongs during his whole time at Hogwarts, and what did he do? He tried to kill us, do you remember that? We've already saved his life once, and if he's all bent up with guilt and anguish, well then good! I, for one, am glad he's so depressed. Now can we just drop it? Harry, you're not going to hear Draco Malfoy out, do you understand me?" Ron said, looking for Harry's nod of approval.

But Harry didn't respond, because perhaps Hermione was right. After all, Harry thought, sometimes good people do bad things. And Draco wanted to repent. He wanted to forgive. And Harry agreed with Hermione, he didn't have to accept Malfoy's apology. Harry knew what it felt like to feel utterly alone, depressed, and guilty. He suffered from it still. Malfoy may not have PTSD, but he didn't emerge out of the war unscathed.

"Hermione's right," Harry said finally. Ron groaned, throwing his arms up in the air and muttering something along the lines of 'don't even know why I compete with her,' and slouched down in his chair. Hermione smiled at Harry, but Harry held up his hand. "However, hearing out Malfoy does _not_ mean I forgive him for his crimes or for all the awful things he has done to us over the years. He is a horrible human being who deserves to have died in the Battle of Hogwarts, but he didn't, while a lot of good people did. However, I know that there is nothing worse than feeling completely isolated, alone, and so if speaking a few empty words to me makes him feel better, then I will stand there and listen, and then promptly leave and never speak to him again, do you understand me?"

Harry glared at Ron and Hermione, until they nodded. Harry returned the nod, and stood up. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go outside before I start to have a flashback of Draco Malfoy. I'd like to be left alone," he said. He had begun to feel the cold trickle down his back about midway through his little speech, and he had tried to suppress it, but he knew that the more he suppressed it, the worse it was going to be. He had to get to the garden.

He made it to the little hedge where the gnomes liked to hide, and then closed his eyes, waiting for it to happen. Any second.


	4. The Trust Fall

**Sorry for the delay, I just got a bit busy! Enjoy!**

The Trust Fall

"Are you kidding me?" Harry protested, giving Kent the leader an ice-cold glare. Kent had paired up the members of the group, and ordered them to try trust-falls. All they had to do was wave their wand and catch the other person before they slammed on their back onto the hard, shiny hardwood of the gym floor. And of course, Harry had been paired up with Malfoy.

Malfoy seemed just as reluctant as Harry, though he wasn't voicing his concern. It made Harry feel a bit irritated, as if Malfoy was trying to make Harry feel like a whiner. Kent crossed his arms. "Now, Mr. Potter, you need to be able to establish trust between people. You need to surround yourself by those who understand best what you're going through. By entrusting Mr. Malfoy to catch you, you break down a little piece of that wall you've built up. And that wall is what's causing you to have violent, PTSD-related flashbacks," he explained curtly, clearly letting Harry know that there was no way he was going to get out of the exercise.

All the other pairs had already begun, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Harry swore at Kent under his breath, and turned back to face Malfoy. He looked at him, mustering all the hatred he could, and nodded. "Let's get this over with," he said, walking behind Malfoy. Malfoy twisted to look at him over his shoulder. "I'd prefer to keep my spine straight, Potter, if you don't mind," he said, his voice cold and silky. Harry glared at him, his hand clenching tighter around his wand. He'd have to pay careful attention not to curse Malfoy instead of catch him. Malfoy turned back around, held out his arms like a lunatic, and fell.

Harry waved his wand lazily, catching Malfoy in just the knick of time, letting his head bump the ground slightly. Malfoy, being his typical self, screwed up his face in anger, jumping up and running a hand through his gelled hair, messing it. "That barely counts as catching, Potter!" he said, quietly but forcefully. Harry shrugged his shoulders, knowing that he would pay for it when Malfoy caught him. He kept hold of his wand, just in case he needed to catch himself, and walked in front of Malfoy.

He took a deep breath, prepared himself for an awful headache, and let gravity take him. To his complete surprise, Harry's feet had fallen only a few millimeters before he was floating on air, on comfortable, soft, air. He opened his eyes, and noticed that he was a few feet in the air. He almost tried to struggle and squirm out of it, believing that Malfoy would drop him from this height, but he felt himself lowering. Ever so gently, with the lightest touch, Malfoy lowered him to the ground.

When his body touched the hard floor, it was painless, as if Harry had been lying on the ground for hours. He didn't stay there long, instead got up quickly. Kent rushed over, applauding Malfoy. "Well done, Mr. Malfoy, well done. See everyone, _that_ is what you are aiming for! Mr. Potter should have complete and unwavering trust now," Kent grinned from ear to ear, and clapped Malfoy on the shoulder. Malfoy just looked embarrassed, his face red and his eyes trained on the floor.

Kent clasped his hands together, and used the moment to end the session. "Great meeting today, everyone, I think we've made great progress in healing ourselves from our past. I will see all of you next Wednesday, but remember! We are meeting at the Cauldron, because unfortunately, school is back in session for the Muggles, and they must need this gym back. And to be honest, I'm getting quite tired of having to reenchant the place. You guys are dismissed,"

The rest of the group left quietly, and in pairs, chattering amongst themselves. Harry made to leave, alone as usual, but Kent called him back. "Uh, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, if you could just stay a moment," he said. Harry sighed, not wanting to spend another second with Malfoy. But, being the good samaritan he is, he turned around and walked up to Kent.

Kent smiled his usual therapist-y smile. He looked from Malfoy to Harry. "I've noticed some tension between you two these past couple of meetings," he said. To Harry's annoyance, Kent sat down, and Malfoy and Harry copied. This was going to take more than a moment. Kent's voice echoed around the gym, forcing Harry to hear his words twice. Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was staring at him. Harry looked away immediately, and shrugged his shoulders. Kent continued. "Am I correct in saying that you two did not get along during your tenures at Hogwarts?" he asked. Harry felt his face heat up. He wouldn't-no, he _couldn't-_ talk about Hogwarts. Malfoy answered Kent. "Yeah, you could say that," he said simply. Kent clasped his hands together, leaning forward. "And am I correct in saying that your dislike of each other extended to the point of extreme violence?" Harry tried breathing evenly, like Tinley the therapist had suggested, but it wasn't helping.

If Kent didn't shut up, Harry was going to have an episode right in front of his worst enemy. He tried to speak. "Yeah," he said quietly. Kent nodded to himself, leaning back in his chair. He gestured to Harry and Malfoy. Harry didn't really notice, he was too busy trying to keep his composure. "You both need to let your past go. It's hindering your progress. You need to focus on the present and on the future, because the past is gone and hating each other for the rest of eternity is not going to change it or bring it back," Kent said, but his words were fading.

Harry felt it. The familiar trickle of ice water down his back, the sweaty palms. His eyes could not focus on one thing, instead flitting from object to object. "I believe, Mr. Potter, that Mr. Malfoy would like to personally apologize to you, if you'd let him," And then the scene around Harry disappeared as if Harry had dunked his head into a Pensieve, and Harry was in the Astronomy tower, and Dumbledore had just fallen to his death. Snape and Malfoy were both there, except something was off. Neither of their faces were completely formed. They were like orbs of jelly, without noses, mouths, eyes, or any facial features to speak of. A high-pitched laugher was hurting Harry's ears, and when he tried to move, he realized that his whole body was cold, lifeless. His heart was racing, his eyes were teary, and he screamed and screamed, producing no sound, as the faceless Snape and Malfoy inched their way toward him.

"Harry! Mr. Potter! It's not real, it's just your mind playing tricks on you! You need to suppress it," Kent's voice came through, saving Harry. He looked around, desperate for a savior, and tried closing and opening his eyes, anything to get rid of the scene around him. It wasn't real, it wasn't. The faceless figures of Snape and Malfoy could not hurt him. He tried to move, but it was hard, so hard. Snape and Malfoy were coming closer. Harry held up his hand to protect himself, and then he felt someone grab it. Someone who was not going to hurt him, in whose hand Harry felt the pressure of trust, of loyalty.

And then Harry opened his eyes and he was back in the gymnasium, and he was on the floor, with Kent kneeling in front of him. Harry took a few deep breaths, and then realized that someone _was_ holding his hand, it wasn't just in the flashback. He followed the hand up to Malfoy, who quickly dropped it, and stepped away. Harry was confused. Why would Malfoy take Harry's hand? They weren't friends, and Harry hadn't forgiven him yet, despite the apology he overheard. Kent noticed the tension, and helped Harry stand up.

"I think," he said, looking at Harry. "That Mr. Malfoy has something to tell you," And then Kent left, leaving Harry alone with Malfoy, in a gym where everything echoed, and there was nowhere for Harry to hide.


	5. Draco's Speech

Draco's Speech

Malfoy stood in the same spot, his hands in his pockets. Harry hadn't really noticed before, but Malfoy still dressed in the same all-black suit that was his style, and it made him look very tall and very powerful at first glance. But as Harry stared, he noticed the looseness of Malfoy's arms, the slope of his shoulders, and most revealing, his eyes. They were clouded with fear, just like Harry's.

Harry had yet to come across someone who shared the same milky film, but now he had found that someone. He never in his wildest dreams imagined it being Draco Malfoy. Harry swayed and then broke the silence. "Just say it," he prompted, holding out his hands. Malfoy, as though awoken from a slumber, flinched and looked at him, and then nodded.

He began pacing, running his hand through his hair, and breathing quite loudly. "I don't really know how to start," he said, not making eye contact with Harry. Harry stood there, feeling extremely awkward, and wanting nothing more than to Apparate away. He could if it wanted to, but something was keeping him rooted to the spot. "I just want to say I'm sorry, and I know that that is an empty word to you, I know that, but I need to say it," Malfoy looked up and locked eyes with Harry, making Harry feel very uncomfortable indeed, but Harry could not ignore the look of desperation in Malfoy's eyes, through the permanent veil of fear. Malfoy continued.

"I'd say it a thousand times if that's what it took for you to forgive me. I don't ever expect you to forgive me, hell, _I_ won't ever forgive me. The things that I did, the things I said, they were-they _are_ -despicable, and unforgivable, and I know I'm going to rot in hell, I've come to terms with that, but what I haven't come to terms with is you," Malfoy stopped pacing, and pierced Harry with such an intensity Harry felt his whole body go cold. Not from fear, but from anticipation. He found himself wanting to listen to what Malfoy had to say, to really listen.

"I know that you believe that I'm saying this for my own benefit, to make myself better, to clear my conscience, but I'm not. I'm saying this so that perhaps you can begin to understand that I have realized my mistakes, and I have come to form remorse, and regret. I have so much regret. I never should've let my parents influence me the way they did, I never should have bullied you, and I most certainly _never_ should have become a Death Eater. But you have no idea, the _power_ they had over me. I'm not making excuses, I'm not, but it was impossible, if I refused they would kill me,"-with that Harry saw a flicker of something darker within Malfoy, something more sinister.

But Harry didn't have time to comprehend it, because Malfoy had stopped pacing, and was standing only a few inches away from Harry. Harry could practically _feel_ the anxiety rolling off of Malfoy. "I need you to forgive me, Harry. Please, for if you don't, then I don't have anything left. You're the only person who can help me heal, because you're the only person left who completely understands where I'm coming from. You've seen them, you defeated You-Know-Who, you're stronger than I am. Please, help pull me out of this hole that I've dug myself into," Malfoy pleaded, his eyes shining.

Harry was dumbfounded, not quite believing his ears. Malfoy was asking him, no, _begging_ him to forgive him, as if Harry's forgiveness was his saving grace. And Harry could not deny how genuine Malfoy was being. He had only seen Malfoy this vulnerable and broken once, and Malfoy was not asking for forgiveness that time. He looked up at Malfoy, who was a bit taller than him, and swallowed. And then he nodded, a quick jerk of the head. Malfoy didn't react at first, except for his eyes. His eyes widened, and from behind the veil of fear, there was a small flicker of hope. Malfoy stepped back, cleared his throat, and gave a nonchalant nod. And then, as if the realization of all that he had said was just dawning on him, his face turned bright red, and before Harry could respond, he Disapparated, leaving only the scent of hair gel behind.

Harry didn't move, his mouth half-open, with no words forming. He tried to find the hatred for Malfoy within him, but he couldn't. Instead, all of his memories of Malfoy were tainted with sympathy, were stained with what Malfoy had just said. Harry could not hate Malfoy after his speech, how could he? It was impossible. What would Ron and Hermione think? Harry couldn't go back and tell them that he whole-heartedly forgave Malfoy, and was even considering reaching out to him.

They wouldn't understand. And so Harry made the decision to keep his feelings to himself, to keep them buried deep, where nobody would ever be able to touch them. Except for maybe one person.


	6. The Art of Being Subpoenaed

The Art of Being Subpoenaed

"Bloody hell," Ron said. "Bloody _hell_ ," He looked up at Harry, tortured. "Mate," he said slowly, moving towards Harry. Harry felt a bit alarmed, but he knew that Ron was constantly overreacting about small things. Ron was adamant though, grabbing onto Harry's arms and shaking him slightly.

"What if he _likes_ you?" He finished. Harry looked up at him, and then burst out laughing. Even Hermione was giggling. "Come on, Ron, listen to yourself! Malfoy does _not_ like me, he just feels sorry for me! Feels sorry for himself too. Honestly, listening to all that made me want to vomit," Harry said, though he felt that he was saying wasn't entirely true.

Hermione gave him a look from the drawing room. "Harry, from what you've told me, he sounded pretty sincere. Even I would forgive him and I heard the apology secondhand. If it gives him peace just go along with it," she said. Harry ran a hand through his hair, repeating himself once again. "Like I said before, Hermione, I _did_ accept his apology. I just didn't give a big speech to go along with it," Harry sat down at the kitchen table, and twirled his wand around his fingers.

Ron sat down across from him, his wild theory apparently irrelevant now. "Hey, did you hear that the Ministry has subpoenaed us? You, me, and 'Mione?" he cried, as if suddenly remembering. Harry gave him a confused look. "What the hell is a subpoena?" he asked, feeling as if he should know it. Ron shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not exactly sure. It's a Muggle-based word, from their form of law, uh, Hermione?" Ron looked over his shoulder to Hermione, who rolled her eyes and sat down the enormous book she had been reading.

"Basically the Ministry has summoned us to testify in court against Dolores Umbridge. She's finally being put to justice, the old toad. Personally, I'm looking forward to testifying against her," Hermione explained. Ron turned back to Harry, but Harry was beginning to feel worried. He didn't know if he could handle seeing Umbridge in the flesh. Yes, the group therapy was helping, but perhaps he ought to pay a visit to Tinley the therapist before going into court.

"We're scheduled to show up on Friday, at noon. I just thought we could all go at the same time. You don't have any plans, do you, Harry?" Ron asked, a strange look of anticipation on his face. He must be excited too. Was Harry the only one that was nervous? _Well, I am the only one who has PTSD,_ he reminded himself. He sighed, pulling some parchment and a quill towards him. "What're you doing?" Ron questioned, trying to lean around to see Harry's face.

"I'm writing to Tinley. I don't think I can see Umbridge in person without killing her or having an episode,"

* * *

"I was very glad to get your owl, Harry," Tinley said as she opened the door to her office. Harry walked in the familiar room, and sat down in his same spot. Tinley set out the same pot of tea as always, and her magical quill was poised to scribble, just like always. Her pin curls, on point as usual, bounced a bit as she made herself comfortable.

Harry swallowed, and rested his hands on his knees. "I just want to say thank you, for, uh, for sending me to group therapy. I think it's helping," he said nervously. Tinley smiled. "That's great, Harry. I'm glad to see you're making progress. And Kent told me that you got a chance to reconnect with Draco Malfoy. Is everything okay there?" she asked, her smile unable to mask her look of concern. Harry suspected she knew all about Harry and Malfoy's dark past. Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"He apologized to me, and I forgave him, sort of, and we're both just trying to forget the past and move on," Harry explained. Yeah, he liked that answer. It was truthful enough. Tinley nodded, her quill scribbling away. "Is there any chance for friendship?" she pressed. Harry shook his head almost immediately. Tinley nodded again, but changed the subject away from Malfoy.

"Now, the Ministry has contacted me about your being subpoenaed. I assume that's why you wrote me?" Tinley prompted. Harry wasn't surprised that the Ministry went through his therapist. Practically everybody went through his therapist nowadays. He thought it'd have slowed down by now-it was really bad when word got out that Harry Potter had a shrink-but apparently not. Harry jerked his head yes and Tinley continued.

"And I've been told that you've been asked to testify against Dolores Umbridge, former Headmistress at Hogwarts, and a known sympathizer with You-Know-Who. Tell me about her," Tinley sat back, allowing Harry to speak. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts and form them into words. He had to avoid freaking out. "Well, she, uh, she made me feel like I was all alone, and she was very good at it. She almost had me convinced that I was a liar. She turned my friends against me, and she destroyed Hogwarts during her time as Headmistress. She gave me this scar, and the way she was obsessed with power, it just, it reminded me of Voldemort. It was like she was an extension of Voldemort," Harry shivered involuntarily, and stopped speaking.

Tinley was nodding slowly, her eyes slightly closed. "Very interesting," she murmured. "And I'm guessing that you're worried that Ms. Umbridge will trigger some sort of violent reaction or episode out of you, am I correct?" Harry nodded. As much as he disliked one-on-one therapy, he had to admit, Tinley Percival was good. Tinley nodded to herself, as if coming to a conclusion. "Well, Harry, I can't cure your PTSD in three days, because if I could, well, I'd've done it already. What you can do, however, is take your medication,-" Harry cut Tinley off, jumping up from his chair.

"No!" he shouted, throwing his hands up. "No medication! I don't want to be permanently messed up by drinking some strange potion that'll make me go all loopy!" Tinley stood up too, calmly, and waved her wand. A little blue jar full of little white, round pills soared through the air and into her hand. She held them out to Harry.

"Harry, I know that you haven't been taking your medication, and I will say the same thing I did last time! Having a little assistance does not make you weak or vulnerable! They are designed to help you feel better, to be able to function in society as a normal person, to be able to interact with people without fear of hurting them. Don't you want to be able to do that? It's only temporary, I promise. Once you have your episode under control yourself, I'll take you off of them," Tinley pressed the bottle into Harry's hand.

Harry looked at her skeptically, but accepted the pills. Tinley sat back down, had her quill scratch out a line of print, and then looked back at Harry. "Now, Harry, is there anything else you'd like to tell me?" she asked. There were plenty of things Harry wanted to tell Tinley, but he didn't feel like pouring his heart out to someone he was paying $200 an hour to see. He shook his head. Tinley waved her wand and the quill stopped writing, and neatly rolled up the parchment and stuffed it into what Harry assumed was his file. It was thicker than he would have preferred. Tinley stood up and ushered Harry to the door. She locked eyes with him before he left.

"Once a day leading up to to the trial, twice the dosage the day of the triall, understand?" she instructed. Harry nodded, and after Tinley shut the door behind him, did he stare at the little blue bottle of pills, and then chuck them into the gutters, walking away quickly. No way in hell was he going to take some silly little Muggle medicine.


	7. When Emotions Run High

**I'm loving this story! Is it different than When Hate Turns To Love? I'm trying to keep it different, but certain themes are just, I don't know, attractive or something. :) Anyway, enjoy, and please give me feedback!**

When Emotions Run High

Harry's palms were sweaty, but only because it was sweltering outside. He was dressed in his finest suit, his hair carefully styled by Hermione. Kingsley Shacklebolt himself had written to Harry the day after the Golden Trio had been subpoenaed, and advised him to dress sharply, in an effort for the jury to take his testimony more seriously. He hadn't dressed this nicely since Bill Weasley's wedding, and he wasn't even himself then.

Ron looked downright uncomfortable in his suit, tugging at his sleeves and pulling his collar away from his neck. Not only were the suits constraining, but the heat was overwhelming. Harry looked at Hermione, and felt weirdly jealous that she could go in a simple summer dress with a light cardigan. She looked at the boys, and pursed her lips. "You both look simply dreadful," she said simply, and then flicked her wand. Suddenly, it was as if Hermione had dropped a bucket of smooth, fresh, cold air over Harry, and his body was enveloped in coolness, and he felt very comfortable.

"Whoa, Hermione, what _was_ that?" Ron asked, holding out his arms, trying to find the source of the cold. Hermione smirked a bit, tucking her wand into her little beaded bag. The same bag that had been their saving grace the whole time the three had been hunting-"So should get we leaving, then?" Harry said, one foot out the door already.

Hermione, though a bit startled, nodded, and took hold of Ron's hand. The three of them walked outside, stood in the sun, Harry relishing in the fact that he felt impossibly comfortable despite the boiling sun beating down on him. Harry took hold of Hermione's free hand, and then they were spinning away towards the Ministry.

 _I should of have taken those pills. Should've taken those pill dammit,_ Harry thought to himself, as he sat in the small little alcove where the sequestered witnesses were sent. He was one of the first to arrive. Hermione tried to make small talk, but Harry was so afraid that she might say something that would trigger an episode that he threatened to put a silencing charm over her if she didn't shut up, which of course made Ron angry, but one look from Hermione shut him up too.

Harry was actually delighted to see some of the people who had also been summoned by the Ministry to testify. Neville Longbottom, along with Luna Lovegood, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and to Hermione's upmost delight, Professor McGonagall herself. "Professor!" Hermione said, jumping up. McGonagall looked as stern and strict as always, but she did smile softly at the sight of Harry, Hermione, and Ron. "Very nice to see you three, as always," she said, taking a seat opposite of them. Neville and Luna gathered closer. They had not seen each other in months. "How's Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, of course. Ron waved her hand. "Never mind Hogwarts, Professor, what're you going to say about Umbridge?!" Ron waited expectantly, but McGonagall pursed her lips at Ron, and Harry smiled brightly at the memories it brought along. Happy memories, for once.

"Mr. Weasley, why on earth would I tell you what I am going to say about Ms. Umbridge? You must remember that she was a teacher at Hogwarts, and therefore we must respect her, no matter how difficult that may be," McGonagall trailed off, and before Harry or Ron could ask her more questions, the door opened again, and Harry's heart dropped into his stomach. Apparently, so did Ron's. Hermione's jaw dropped.

Only McGonagall managed to keep her composure. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I see you've been subpoenaed too," she said calmly. Malfoy looked striking, Harry couldn't deny that. He was tall and slender in a suit that accentuated all of the, er, finer details of his body. His hair was styled the same way, and when Malfoy passed Harry to sit on the far opposite side of the room, Harry could not have missed the clean scent of aftershave. But before Malfoy moved quickly away from the former Gryffindors he froze.

Harry could feel Ron tense up beside him, but Hermione lay a hand on his leg. Malfoy tried to keep his face blank, but Harry saw the anxiety in his eyes, and the way his hands seemed to stretch tight, as if he was trying to prevent them from rolling up into fists. His eyes flitted to Neville, Luna, Justin, and the others before finally resting on Harry's. Harry stared back, but it wasn't a glare, there was no hatred in his stare. How could he hate him, after the huge sincere apology? No, it was more of a gaze, a calm gaze that one would give a passing stranger.

At McGonagall's words, Malfoy gave a curt nod, before gliding to the other side of the room, to sit down with some of the other sequestered witnesses that were less likely to have the desire to kill him. Ron turned to look at Harry. "Mate, he stared at you for a solid ten seconds," he whispered, while Luna worked her magic distracting the others. "Yes, Professor, just there, behind your earlobe," Harry heard her say vaguely, dreamily. Harry responded to Ron.

"So? He was probably just embarrassed. It was pretty awkward," Ron gave him a pointed look, as if he didn't believe it was an innocent stare. _What, does he think Malfoy has a crush on me? Ridiculous,_ Harry thought. Thankfully, having his friends around him seemed to help keep his thoughts happy and content. He'd just have to keep that frame of mind when he was on the witness stand.

Suddenly, the door to the courtroom opened, and an official-looking Ministry employee entered the room. She held a piece of parchment, and called out two names. "Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger," she said. Ron and Hermione stood up, gave Harry a worried look, and then followed the employee into the court room, hand in hand. And that's how it went, two by two, until the only people left in the small alcove were, of course, Harry and Malfoy.

Harry wondered fleetingly how he and Malfoy kept winding up together, when Malfoy spoke. "They're going to charge me," he said. Harry, not expecting Malfoy to start a conversation, flinched a little, before turning around and facing Malfoy. Malfoy was sitting with his head in his hands, and his eyes looked tortured. "What?'' Harry said stupidly. Malfoy stared at him. "Don't you get it? This is just a way for them to admit that I was a part of an illegal activity when I was fifteen, and then they'll charge me with that, and then they'll go on to charge me for crimes against humanity," Malfoy went on and on, listing off every single awful thing he had ever done, and it was making Harry sick.

"Malfoy, stop it," he said, but to no avail, Malfoy did not seem to hear him. He had entered a realm where he was reliving all of his mistakes, his past. The deeper he went, the madder Malfoy's eyes became, until he was quite literally hitting himself on the head. Harry, worried, rushed over and caught Malfoy's hand. It clung tight to Harry's, and it was cold, as if it had no blood supply. That seemed to bring Malfoy out of his episode. He was breathing heavily, and as he locked eyes with Harry, Harry clearly saw into that void, that fear, and behind it, the desperation. Malfoy was broken like Harry, but unlike Harry, he didn't have anyone to put him back together. He was alone.

"Are you okay?" Harry said, looking down at his hand that was still clutching Malfoy's. He was beginning to feel a bit strange. Malfoy took a deep breath, and ran his free hand through his hair. When he did, his sleeve caught a bit, and Harry caught a glimpse of what he knew to be Malfoy's Dark Mark. He ignored it.

"You know what my therapist diagnosed me with?" he said, not looking at Harry, but not dropping his hand either. Harry sat down next to Malfoy. He felt sorry for him, and he felt the least he could do was listen. "What?" Harry prompted. Malfoy turned to face him, and his face was crumpled in pain. "Survivor's guilt," he said. It made sense, really. If Harry were on the opposite side of a war that he didn't want to be a part of, and he watched his friends and former classmates die for an unworthy cause, and _he_ didn't die, he'd feel awful every second of every day. That's what Malfoy was going through. It may not be PTSD, but it's just as damn painful.

"I should've _died_ , Harry, don't you get that?" Malfoy looked away from Harry, his hand still clutching Harry's. "I'm sure you wish I had," Harry felt a bit frustrated at that. He didn't want _anyone_ to die, not even Malfoy. In a move that shocked even him, he took his free hand and pulled Malfoy's face towards him. Malfoy didn't protest. "Draco," he said Malfoy's first name, and it felt weird rolling off of his tongue. "I'm glad you didn't die," he said. Malfoy looked shocked, taken aback, but he didn't lean away. His eyes became misty, and Harry had never seen nor expected to see Malfoy in this state.

It was strange, the emotions running through him. Nowhere could he find an ounce of hatred or contempt for this boy, despite what kind of person he had been. Instead he felt pity, or maybe sympathy, but it was something different. It felt familiar. It felt like an animal in his chest, an animal that was clawing his way out, attempting to make himself known.

And then it dawned on Harry. This animal was the same one that reared it's head sixth year when Harry was in love with Ginny. But why was it making a reappearance now? Harry certainly did not have romantic feelings for Draco Malfoy. How could he? He had never identified as gay, but then, again, he never really noticed girls much, Ginny being the exception. And as he focused on Draco's eyes, he did feel a stirring deep down. What was happening.

And Draco was staring back at him, and before Harry knew it, he was lying face up on the couch he had been sitting on, and Draco Malfoy was on top of him, and his lips were pressed against Harry's. Harry's eyes were wide open, and he didn't know what to do. He didn't kiss back, his heart was racing, he was so _damn confused_. And so he did the only thing he could think of.

He shoved Draco Malfoy off of him. Malfoy flew back, startled, and took a moment to react. When he did, his face became extremely red, and a look of pure embarrassment rested on his face. Harry rubbed his mouth, trying to rid the pressure of Malfoy's lips, but it was impossible. He could still feel them. "What the hell was that?!" he cried.

He was so shocked, he couldn't even wrap his brain around what had just expired. Just as Malfoy opened to his mouth to hopefully explain, the door opened again, and the Ministry employee summoned Malfoy and Harry into the courtroom.


	8. Draco's Testimony

**So, in every one of my stories there is one chapter that is just plain rough. It's like the bridge between two parts of a story. You have to have it, but it's just really hard to write. This is that chapter. I tried to keep it straightforward, but I find that my characters like to write for me, and sometimes it just doesn't work out. So bear with me, I promise it gets better!**

Draco's Testimony

The room was round, and the ceiling was so high Harry wasn't even sure there was a roof. About a hundred jurors were sitting in a semi-circle in the back of the courtroom, and on the floor of the courtroom were all those who had already testified, or who were just watching, observing. Kingsley Shacklebolt sat in the Minister's perch, towering over everyone. He gave Harry an encouraging nod as both he and Malfoy sat in the two opposite witness stands.

And there, sitting with her attorney, at the forefront of the room, in front of the audience, sat Dolores Umbridge. Harry's insides twisted with fear at the sight of her, but he tried to keep himself calm. She was well-dressed, and her hair was in its usual little curly bob, but Harry could tell she was afraid. She tried to hide it, trying to keep her toad-like face smooth and blank, but her eyes flitted around her nervously, and every now and then Harry saw her calm demeanor falter. She was magically handcuffed, which made Harry feel strangely happy. Serves her right.

Suddenly, a woman with jet black hair and pearly blue eyes appeared, dressed in what was probably a very expensive suit, and her shoes echoed around the room whenever she moved. "Welcome, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Malfoy," she said, addressing the entire room, rather than Harry and Malfoy directly. She looked up at the Minister. "May I proceed now, your Honor?" she asked. Your Honor? What was this, a Muggle courtroom? Harry shook his head to rid himself of such mundane thoughts, and wiped his hands on his seat, which didn't work at all, but he was nervous.

He tried not looking at Umbridge, but her bright, sickly pink getup was distracting, and eye-grabbing. Harry tried to find Ron and Hermione in the sea of witnesses, but he couldn't. And he was also afraid that Ron would be able to tell something was off. Harry never was good at hiding his feelings. He looked to his left, and saw Malfoy, who glanced his way. Harry looked away immediately, but felt a little better, knowing that Malfoy was just as anxious as he was.

"Proceed, Miss Cavanaugh," Kinglsey said, gesturing for the woman to continue. She gave Kingsley a polite nod, and then began pacing the room. "You have all heard testimony from key witnesses, the most significant being from Miss Granger, who had a firsthand account of the atrocities Miss Dolores Umbridge committed against such gentle and friendly creatures such as the centaurs, but now we must move on to more pressing matters. Your client, Mr. Donahue, as been accused of using an Unforgivable curse, the Cruciatus curse, to be specific. And therefore, I call my next witness, Draco Malfoy," The woman, Miss Cavanaugh, twisted to turn to face Malfoy, and Harry had to admit, she looked extremely formidable.

They way her eyes pierced Malfoy's, it seemed impossible to lie to her. But, formidable as she may appear, Harry knew nothing was stopping what was coming. He'd have to go through it next. "Bailiff, if you could please administer the Veritaserum," Miss Cavanaugh said. The bailiff, an old wizard with long, white robes swished up to Malfoy, and waved his wand, conjuring a vial of Veritaserum. "Open," he said, and Malfoy hesitated a bit, but then slowly opened his mouth. Harry had to look away because staring at Malfoy's mouth was not helping keep him calm.

Hard as he tried, his mind kept redirecting his thoughts to the kiss. Harry wasn't quite sure how he felt. He didn't feel violated, he felt shocked. Surprised, in awe, dumbfounded, basically everything except violated. And Malfoy had kissed _him_ , and Malfoy wasn't known to do rash things, so Harry _must've_ been giving off signals. But he wasn't gay, was he? To be honest, Harry had never really thought about his sexuality all that much. He'd always considered himself straight, but had he ever really denied that he was gay? The answer was no. But now was _not_ the time to be questioning his sexuality, as he was in a court of law, and was about to testify. He focused his attention on the attorney, Miss Cavanaugh.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy. Can you tell me what your fifth year experience at Hogwarts was?" she asked. Malfoy spoke easily, the words flowing out of him, no doubt the effects of the Veritaserum. But he wasn't trying to resist, not yet. "Um, it was pretty uneventful. I mostly minded my own business, stayed in the background," Malfoy's eyes were trained on the floor. Umbridge was staring haughtily at Malfoy, her hands struggling against her restraints. Harry searched again, desperately, for Hermione and Ron, because he was beginning to lose his cool up on that stand, with everyone staring at him. And he wasn't even testifying yet.

Finally, he found them. They were towards the back, to the left, holding each other's hands. When Harry made eye contact with them, Hermione gave him a small smile of support, and Ron gave him a thumbs up. That made Harry feel a bit better, seeing his friends. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Miss Cavanaugh continued to interrogate Malfoy. "Can you explain what exactly the Inquisitorial Squad was, Mr. Malfoy, and why you chose to join it?"

At this Malfoy's face drained of color, his pale skin white as snow. His silvery, clouded eyes, glanced towards Harry, who was watching him carefully now. He was interested in Malfoy's answer. Malfoy swallowed, but answered smoothly. He, like Harry, probably thought it best not to resist the potion. "It was a group organized by Umbridge that included Hogwarts students. Our job was to find and put a stop to illegal activity happening in the school. I joined it because I liked have an elevated position in the school. I liked having power, and being able to scare the other students," Malfoy looked wholeheartedly ashamed at hearing his own words, and made an effort to keep his eyes trained on the floor.

Miss Cavanaugh nodded, pacing a bit more, and then addressing the jury once more. "Let us move on, shall we?" she said. Harry didn't like Miss Cavanaugh, even though she was fighting to charge Umbridge. The way she pranced around, as if she was better than everyone else. Miss Cavanaugh turned to face Malfoy again. He had broken out into a noticeable sweat, probably anticipating what was coming. "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, did Ms. Umbridge ever attempt to perform an Unforgivable curse in front of you and onto another fellow student?" she asked. Harry knew exactly what she was talking about, and he knew what Malfoy would say.

"Yes," he said simply. His fists were clenched, his knuckles white. Harry wasn't quite sure why Malfoy was so nervous. He was telling the truth. And then it dawned on Harry. He had to force himself to stay still, because he knew exactly what Miss Cavanaugh was going to do next. She was going to make him into an accessory. "So, Mr. Malfoy, by admitting that Ms. Umbridge did, in fact, try to perform the Cruciatus curse, on Mr. Potter, you also admit that you did nothing to stop it, correct?" she said. Malfoy's eyes scanned the room, resting on Harry's. He looked hopeless, fearful. He tried resisting the potion, his neck straining and the veins popping out, but it was no use.

"You're correct. I did nothing to stop it," he said stiffly, through gritted teeth. Miss Cavanaugh nodded, a small look of approval on her face. It infuriated Harry, the way she was destroying Malfoy, in front of the entire courtroom. "And so, in turn, you did not report to the Ministry that Ms. Umbridge had broken the law, and therefore perhaps, helped lead her to almost killing two students, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, out of pure frustration?" she said, but Kingsley interrupted her.

"What is your point, Hannah?" he asked. Miss Cavanaugh-Hannah-peered up at the Ministry. "My point, Minister, is that Mr. Malfoy was an accessory to Ms. Umbridge's crimes against humanity, and I believe therefore, that he must be charged as well, in accordance-," But Harry cut her off.

He jumped out of his seat. "Stop it!" he cried, silencing the entire courtroom. Malfoy looked at Harry, shocked but somewhat grateful. Kingsley twisted to face him, a look of interest on his face, while the rest of the courtroom stared at him, waiting to hear what he was going to say. Hannah Cavanaugh crossed her arms and looked around her in disbelief. "Excuse me?" she began to say, but Kingsley held up his hand. "Do you have something you'd like to say, Mr. Potter?" he asked. Harry took a deep breath, and didn't take a moment to contemplate, because he knew if he did, he'd lose his courage.

He locked eyes with Umbridge, who looked very frightened, and glared at her. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Harry said. Umbridge tried not to react, but pursed her lips a bit tighter. "You know that you're going down, but you want to take down as many people with you as you can," Harry directed his gaze towards Hannah. She glared back at him, furious that he would interrupt her argument. "And you. What awful thing did Lucius Malfoy do to you? Because nobody in their _right mind_ would charge a seventeen-year-old boy for something he did when he was fifteen. Something _minor_ , at that. You're just searching for something to charge him with. In case you've forgotten, Draco Malfoy was cleared of all charges only days after I defeated Voldemort!" The whole courtroom flinched, but Harry continued on.

"Can't you see that he's already suffering? Don't make it worse for him! As for Umbridge, I feel like this whole thing is a joke, because we all know what she did! She may as well've held up a sign turning herself in. You have her files on Muggleborns, you have the centaurs testimony, you have Hermione's testimony. I can show you my scar on my hand, what more evidence do you need?! I'm through listening to you, the person who is supposed to be on _our_ side, destroy a boy who is already broken beyond repair! I'm through!" And with that, Harry climbed over the witness stand, and started to make his way to the exit.

"Minister! You cannot let him leave, he's been subpoenaed!" Hannah pleaded, trying to get the bailiff to come after Harry. But Kingsley did not listen to her. "Jury," he said, making Harry stop. "I ask you now to please consider all that you have heard, and to come to a decision regarding Ms. Umbridge, and Ms. Umbridge _only_ , as it is her trial. Mr. Malfoy, you may step down," Kingsley said.

The courtroom erupted into a buzz of whispers, and Hannah looked as if her head was about to explode. Harry made his way down to where Hermione and Ron were sitting, and they moved over to give him room. He sat down, wearily, and ran a hand through his hair. Ron looked at him, worried.

"Mate, are you okay?" he asked. Harry looked at him. "Yeah," he said. Ron looked at again, but didn't say anything. Hermione reached over, and squeezed Harry's hand. "You're a good person, Harry," she said. But Harry didn't know if what he did was because he was a kind, good-natured person who hated seeing anyone suffer, or because he had feelings for Malfoy. He was so confused. So confused.


	9. What Happens At Grimmauld Place

What Happens At Grimmauld Place Stays At Grimmauld Place

"Isn't it wonderful, Harry?" Hermione said from across the table at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry, who was sulking back in his chair and not really celebrating, gave Hermione a half-hearted nod. Hermione's face fell, and she pulled her butterbeer closer. "What is going on with you?" Ron asked, moving his chair away from Hermione and closer to him. Harry barely looked up at him, too deep in thought to focus on something as mundane as the sentencing of Dolores Umbridge.

"Nothing, just thinking," he murmured softly, his hand resting on his chin. His glasses were slipping and the upper edges of his vision were blurry, but that was okay. Harry was thinking deeply and intensely about Draco Malfoy, and all the questions he brought with him. Harry knew that if he were straight, he wouldn't be questioning his sexuality this much, so he must either be gay or bisexual. But whenever Draco's face was paired up against Ginny's in his mind, Harry kept being attracted to Draco. Perhaps Harry was gay for Malfoy, but straight for Ginny.

He knew for a fact, however, that Malfoy was gay. It just made sense. Harry had only seen him with a girl twice, and never was it romantic. Other than that he always associated himself with his male cronies. Malfoy was very flamboyant his entire time at Hogwarts, and he always put forth a huge effort to bully Harry. Was that Malfoy's own, sick version of flirting? Maybe Malfoy knew that Harry didn't have feelings for him, and coped with that by constantly, incessantly bullying Harry and his friends. But that didn't make sense either, because Malfoy bullied anyone who wasn't a Pureblood or a Slytherin.

All the thoughts were beginning to hurt Harry's head, and he was afraid he'd have another episode, so before Ron or Hermione could question him further, Harry made up a lousy excuse and left the Cauldron, heading straight to his nearest home. Grimmauld Place.

The house, while never truly abandoned, hadn't had permanent residence since the war was over, with only a few people stopping in here and there and staying for only a few days time. When Harry entered, it was cleaner than usual, but a fine layer of dust covered everything. Kreacher must've caught on that it was no use upkeeping a house that was hardly ever lived in.

When Harry entered, Kreacher appeared almost instantaneously with a loud crack, and bowed low at Harry's feet. "Master Potter, it's been a long time," Kreacher said. Harry took off his cloak and hung it on a hook. "Nice to see you again, Kreacher. Do you mind starting a fire? I think I'm going to lay low here for a while," Harry said. Kreacher scuttled down the winding hallway until Harry entered the living room, with it's high ceilings and cobwebby chandelier. He collapsed onto one of the two couches, a puff of dust rising above him, which he lazily enchanted away from him.

"Has Master Potter heard about the evil witch Umbridge getting sentenced to a lifetime of imprisonment at the newly resurrected Azkaban?" Kreacher asked, snapping his fingers and making a fire appear. The warmth and glowing light made Harry feel a bit better. He closed his eyes, rubbing his fingers across them. "I was at the trial," he said. Kreacher bustled around him, taking off his shoes and readjusting his pillows.

"I'll go make you some dinner now, okay Master Potter?" Kreacher said, already stepping out. Harry almost let him go, but then he surprised himself by making an odd request. "Can you send for a Mr. Draco Malfoy?" he asked. Kreacher almost choked from astonishment, but bowed at the request, before stepping out and leaving Harry alone.

Harry just couldn't spend another second mulling over Draco Malfoy. He had come to conclusion that he needed to see Malfoy in the flesh and discuss things with him to be able to come to a clear decision on how he felt. After all, he did have PTSD, so he could very well have other problems mentally.

"Master Potter, a Mr. Malfoy is here to see you!" Kreacher called from the entryway. Harry nervously jumped up, shoved on his shoes, and looked down in horror at the state of himself. He tried his best to smooth his pants, and tidy his hair, but in the end he didn't really care. Try as he might, he had spent that last day and half thinking endlessly about Draco Malfoy, and he found himself looking forward to seeing him again.

Harry turned the corner and saw Malfoy. His heart slowed, and he felt himself smile. "Thank you Kreacher, you may leave us," Harry said, waving for Kreacher to leave. Kreacher bowed, and then disappeared. Harry stood and stared at Malfoy for a moment, before clearing his throat. "Thank you for coming," he said softly. Malfoy looked around, confused, but, to Harry's surprise, happy. "I was shocked to get your owl, especially after," Malfoy trailed off, looking away from Harry.

Harry stepped closer, desperate to be able to smell the clean scent of aftershave on Malfoy's neck. "That's actually why I asked you here today. I've been having some very, er, confusing thoughts and I need you're help clearing them up," Harry said, inviting Malfoy into the sitting room. Malfoy followed Harry, his silver eyes flitting to and fro, taking in the scene around him.

"What is this place?" he asked, sitting across from Harry. Harry looked around himself. "This is Grimmauld Place, former headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix," he explained. Malfoy nodded, removing his cloak. Harry had to keep his eyes from wandering, because Malfoy was wearing a fantastic black suit that emphasized his physique, and seeing him like that almost made Harry confirm his own suspicions on his sexuality without even needing to speak to Malfoy.

"So," Harry said, leaning back a bit, and trying to stay calm. Malfoy gazed back at him. "So," he said back. Harry pursed his lips, unsure of what to say next. "Let me guess," Malfoy said, startling Harry. Harry waited, scared of what Malfoy was going to say. "I kissed you, and now you're wondering if I'm gay. Well, I'll go ahead and tell you. Yes, yes I am. I am not ashamed of that fact, and if you are, well, Merlin knows I deserve a taste of my own medicine, so feel free to make fun of me and shame me all you want," Malfoy said all of this in one breath, and it took Harry a moment to process.

The conversation was not going as Harry had expected. "Um," he said, trying to bridge the silence. He was frozen, and if he was honest with himself, his heart was racing, and that familiar feeling of victory was in his chest. Malfoy was gay. Which meant that Harry was gay, because no straight person would jump with joy on finding out that their former adversary was gay. "I was actually trying to figure out if _I_ was gay," he said.

Malfoy hesitated, and then his eyes popped and he blushed so intensely it made Harry want to touch Malfoy's cheek. He looked away, embarrassed, and wrung his hands together. He stuttered a bit, but then, after a few moments, gained his composure. He smoothed his face, and gazed at Harry once more. "And have you come to a conclusion?" he asked. Harry sensed that Malfoy was trying to keep his voice smooth, but it shook a bit. Harry hesitated this time, trying to find the right words.

And then he realized he didn't need words to convey his decision. And with that Harry lunged at Malfoy, closing the space between them, and crashed into him, feverishly pressing his lips against Malfoy's, and putting all the unspoken words into the kiss, and pulling Malfoy closer, because goddammit, Harry was _not_ going to let this slip through his fingers.


	10. When Therapy Fails

When Therapy Fails

"I should go," Malfoy said, his hair messy, and his suit wrinkled. He hesitated by the door to the entryway, looking disheveled and, to Harry, overwhelmingly sexy. "Or you could stay," Harry said from the couch. His heart was still racing from the passion and the intensity of what had just expired. How could he live without the heat of Draco Malfoy next to him, how he could last without feeling those soft lips against his, and most importantly, how could he be without the feeling of companionship, of love, of compassion? The answer was simple. He couldn't.

Malfoy turned back to face Harry. "This doesn't mean we're together," he said. Harry propped himself up on his elbows. "I'm not a child, Malfoy, I know that," he replied. Malfoy ran a hand through his sweaty hair, causing Harry's heart to speed up. Malfoy sighed, and sat his cloak back down. "To be honest, I'd rather be here than where I'm staying," he said, looking down at Harry and swallowing. Harry sat up, pulling the sheets with him. "And where is that?" he asked.

Malfoy sat down next to him. He was close. Really close. His thigh touched Harry's, and their shoulders almost collided. Harry liked it. But beneath the initial satisfaction was confusion. What did all of this mean? Were he and Malfoy on good terms now, or were they simply ignoring their past. Letting bygones be bygones? Harry knew the topic would crop up eventually, but for now, he was basking in bliss and ignorance.

"Um, just a small flat up north," Malfoy answered. Harry tried to imagine Malfoy living in a one bedroom flat, as opposed to his gigantic mansion he was raised in, and the image makes Harry want to laugh, but he doesn't. "What about your parents?" Harry asked, but the moment the words came out of his mouth he knew he had hit a tender chord. Malfoy's face became paler, and he clenched his hands in fists. "I don't speak to them," he spat, clearly not wanting to talk about it. And so Harry didn't press it. He was beginning to feel the tension rise and the passion diminishing. He didn't want to, but he knew that he needed to get up, get dressed, and have a serious chat with Malfoy.

Harry was determined not to turn what had happened into a one night stand. He deserved better than that. "Why don't you stay here, and I'll get dressed, and we'll talk some things out," Harry suggested, standing up, letting the sheets fall away from him. It took Malfoy a moment to gather his words, but he agreed, after sweeping his eyes up and down Harry. Harry, feeling quite proud, pranced up the stairs to his bedroom, and pulled on clean clothes.

When he bounded down the stairs, he found Malfoy in the kitchen, with Kreacher bustling about him, not speaking. Harry entered, and sat down across from Malfoy. Kreacher sat a cup of tea in front of Harry, gave him a strange look, and then disappeared. Harry turned back to Malfoy. Malfoy stared back at him, and it took a lot of strength to keep Harry from flying across the table and repeating what happened the previous night.

"I'm still so, _so_ angry with you, Malfoy," Harry began, and it was true, he was still angry. But it was a muted anger, and Harry knew it wouldn't take long before he exasperated it. Malfoy held up a hand. "Harry, you can call me by my first name, you know. I think we're to a first name basis," he said. Harry blushed a bit, but continued. "Right, er, Draco, I think we need to discuss a few things," It felt weird, saying Malfoy's first name, like Harry was forging a friendship, or crossing a bridge, or something big. Which he guesses he is.

Harry clears his throat and continues, trying to keep a single train of thought. "The things you've done, the people you've hurt, it's completely unforgivable, but I forgave you, which must mean something, but I'm still so confused. About me, my feelings for you, and how am I supposed to know that you aren't the same cruel, cold, and calculating boy I went to school with?" Harry exclaimed. Malfoy sat down his mug, and stared hard at Harry.

"You can't possibly know if I'm the same person or not," he said, which made Harry scoff and lean back in his chair, but Malfoy continued. "However, I will make it my mission to prove to you that I have changed. It may take years, but I'm willing for it to take that long, if it means being with you. I," He trailed off, but then shook his head slightly and continued. "I've been in love with you since our first day at Hogwarts. When you rejected me, I took that pain, that loss, and turned it into something infinitely worse. I bullied you, harassed your friends, and I'm not saying that's an excuse for the things I said, but you need to understand that I was raised under a sheltered, prejudiced life, and I didn't know any better. When I got older, I did begin to understand, but you have no idea, by then, the power the Dark Lord-I mean, You-Know-Who, wielded, the _influence_ he had. I had death hanging over me,"

Malfoy eyes were watering, and he looked desperately at Harry, for some sign of understanding, but Harry didn't know what to say. He couldn't believe his ears, not for one second, because the things Malfoy said were completely uncharacteristic of Malfoy, and it wouldn't surprise Harry if this whole thing was a ruse, a scheme to expose Harry as gay to the world.

But then Malfoy grasped Harry's hand suddenly, and Harry felt the pressure of truth. He swallowed. "I have to admit, Draco, that was a pretty epic speech, and I'm not quite sure how to follow," he said, breaking the tension. Malfoy laughed a nervous little laugh, and released Harry's hands. He sat back in his chair. Harry spoke this time. "It's hard, because I feel for you and me both that we can say we're sorry and remorseful all we want, but I feel that the only way to truly prove to each other that the past is in the past and we aren't the same people is to just be together, and maybe even fall in love, but I think becoming friends would be a good first step, don't you?" Harry suggested, looking through his eyelashes at Malfoy.

Malfoy hesitated, but not for long, and then he gave a small little smile. "We'd have benefits, wouldn't we?" he asked, and Harry, blushing, grinned back and waved his mug away with a flick of his wand. "Well, of course," he whispered seductively, leaning across the table.

Having Draco Malfoy around significantly reduced the amount of episodes Harry had. After the first few weeks of friendship-with benefits-Harry and Malfoy stopped going to group therapy altogether. Harry knew that eventually he'd have to return Tinley the Therapist's owl, but he'd hold off for as long as he could. He also knew that at some point he'd have to just come out to Ron and Hermione, because he was getting the feeling that "I need some space" was losing it's touch.

And it's not like Harry and Malfoy stayed shut up in Grimmauld Place all of the time. They could be found often at the Leaky Cauldron, or Diagon Alley, enjoying each other's company and slowly, slowly, falling in love. As of yet, Harry hadn't had an episode in front of Malfoy, and he wasn't looking forward to the day it inevitably happened. He and Malfoy were sneaking around Hogsmeade, and Malfoy had dragged Harry all the way to the Shrieking Shack. In the back of Harry's mind, a little voice warned him of what would happen if he went back to that place where he had first seen Peter Pettigrew, and his godfather Sirius Black, but Malfoy was whispering lustfully in Harry's ear, and he couldn't deny the opportunity that was presenting itself.

"Come _on_ ,'' Malfoy said, pulling Harry up the stairs. Harry was chuckling and felt like a very juvenile teenage boy, but he was having fun. Harry and Malfoy emerged in the bedroom, and Malfoy shoved Harry up against the wall. "Let's turn this old place into the truly Shrieking Shack, shall we?" he muttered against Harry's neck, and Harry couldn't stop Malfoy, he was so aroused. And it was okay until Malfoy's lips moved down Harry's chest, and Harry had full view of the room. The bed was still broken from when Hermione, Ron, and Harry had all disarmed Snape, and their were still little mouse tracks from when Wormtail had escaped and then he felt it.

His muscles began to tense up, and his pupils dilated. Malfoy, who no doubt thought it was Harry's reaction to be stimulated by his lips, did nothing, but Harry felt his heart drop. He tried doing what Tinley and Kent had said, tried to focus on what was real, what was happening, but it didn't matter. Despite what Malfoy was doing down there, Harry was losing himself.

His palms became sweaty, his eyes unfocused, and then he was five years in the past. He was in the same room, but he didn't feel Malfoy anymore, and instead, he felt a presence behind him. But he couldn't turn to see who it was. And then suddenly, Sirius was bounding towards him. At first, Harry felt overwhelming joy at seeing his godfather again, but it lasted only seconds, because then he heard a high-pitched crazed laugh from the being behind him, and he knew who it was. Bellatrix Lestrange crept around him, her wand poking him in the ribs, and she laughed once more. She spoke, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out, only horrible, wretched sounds.

Sirius looked at Harry, and tried reaching out to him. Harry reached back, but something was restraining his arm. Bellatrix got closer and closer to Sirius, and Sirius began to scream for help from Harry, and Harry couldn't get closer, and he began to scream too, because he could not, _would not_ watch his godfather die in front of him again. But then Sirius screams changed, and the voice was Malfoy's, and it was over as quickly as it had begun.

Harry felt himself on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, being held by someone. He was screaming Sirius' name, and his eyes and hands were clenched shut, and he felt wetness on his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Harry, it's okay, it's okay, shh," Malfoy was saying, and Harry tried to stop sobbing, but he couldn't, because he had just seen his godfather again, and it had been both wonderful and horrible.

Malfoy squeezed Harry tighter, and Harry finally opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Malfoy's chest. He then felt Malfoy's arms around Harry, holding him close, keeping him safe. Harry slowly lifted himself up, and found Malfoy's face. Malfoy looked very distressed, with tears glistening in the moonlight, and he opened his mouth to speak. "I'm so sorry, Harry, I shouldn't have brought you here, I didn't even think about the impact it'd have on you," he said, his hands fluttering around Harry, and finally resting on Harry's own hands. Harry clutched at them, desperate to keep some sense of what was reality. He felt a few more tears roll down his cheeks. "It was awful, Draco," he said, and then burst into tears again. Malfoy looked helpless, but pulled Harry into a hug. Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy, desperate for a sense of safety. And so Malfoy held him while he sobbed, and he didn't judge him and he didn't blame him, and he just stayed there, and he understood. He didn't ask Harry to tell him how he was feeling, and he didn't ask him what he had seen, he just let Harry grieve and mourn and _react_ to what had happened.

Where therapy failed, Draco Malfoy succeeded.


	11. A Little Bit of Fluff

**This is a FILLER CHAPTER, fyi. I just didn't really want to continue the chapter after all that happens, and it's basically just fluff, as per the title. Anywho, enjoy!**

"And now I'm here," Harry said, resting his hands on his knees and leaning back on the couch. Tinley didn't respond immediately, instead she kind of stared at Harry, as if he were a completely different person. Harry began to feel awkward, but he looked next to him at Malfoy, who gave him an encouraging nod. He faced Tinley again.

She blinked a few times, but then nodded slowly. "Um, okay then. So, just to be clear, you never took your medication?" she asked. Harry faltered. _What the hell?_ He had divulged literally _everything_ that had happened over the past four months, and she chose to ask about fucking _medication?!_ What the hell was the matter with her? Harry had told his therapist that he had quit group therapy, discovered he was gay, repeatedly hooked up with his ex-worst enemy, and she decided to worry about the stupid little muggle pills that Harry didn't take? He needed to find a new therapist.

"Uh, no, I didn't. But you saw the tape of the trial. I was fine," Harry replied. Tinely tsked her tongue, sitting up straighter. Her pin curls were beginning to piss Harry off. "Harry, you were not fine by any means. You shouted in the middle of the court and disrupted the entire process," she began. Harry went on the defensive. "I was trying to keep Draco from being prosecuted, is that a crime?" he cried, his voice getting louder. Malfoy rested a hand on Harry's knee, effectively calming him down. He gave him a sideways glance, and felt a bit of the anger leave him.

Tinley leaned forward. "You're actions, Harry, they seem to me to be very rash, and I feel like you aren't taking any time to contemplate your decisions and think of every possible outcome," she explained, trying to sound sincere but to Harry, she just sounded whiney. He wanted to leave. "Look, Tinley," Harry said, standing up suddenly. Malfoy followed suit, though a bit more slowly. "I came here to update you on what was going on in my life, and I just wanted to be able to talk to someone who I didn't think was going to judge me, but obviously I was wrong. I'm not seeing you anymore, so don't contact me, okay? Let's go, Draco," Harry said, taking Malfoy's hand, and pulling him towards him.

Harry half-expected Tinley to just let them leave, but she stopped him. "You know, Harry, I really wanted you to be a success story, but now I can see that all you are is a confused, cowardly little _boy_ ," she seethed, and then waved her wand, shoving Harry and Malfoy out of her office and slamming the door behind them. Harry, fuming, spun to face Malfoy. He pointed his finger at him sharply. "Don't ever let me listen to you again," he spit, striding away from Malfoy. Malfoy groaned and chased after him. "I was just trying to be a good friend Harry, I thought it'd be healthy," Harry skidded to a stop, groaning louder than Malfoy.

He threw up his hands, twisting around. "Oh Merlin's beard, will you _drop_ the 'friend' charade? You and I both know that we're more than that. Friends don't _fuck_ each other, trust me, otherwise I'd have slept with a lot of my friends before you," he shouted, his voice echoing across the corridor. Malfoy looked around nervously, before placing his hands on Harry's forearms and locking eyes with him.

"Look, Potter," he said, a bit of venom seeping into his voice. "You don't think that I don't want to call you my boyfriend? Or to hold your hand in public? And just so you know, I don't call what we do _fucking_. I call what we do making love, because if I were fucking you, I don't think you'd want to cuddle up next to me afterward and I don't think I would want to cry from happiness when we're finished, either,"

Draco's words were arousing Harry, and he knew they rang true. He swallowed, trying to think of a response, but coming up short. "That was a really nice speech," Harry whispered. Draco tried to keep his face serious, but Harry saw the corners of his lips turn upward. Harry smirked back at him, and let Draco kiss him, even though they were in public. "Hey," Harry murmured after. "You wanna go home and _make love_ , you sappy romantic?" Draco chuckled, and held tight to Harry, and the two disappeared.


End file.
